


Episode 13: A New Life?

by PitoyaPTx



Series: Clan Meso'a [13]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Clan Meso'a, Clone Wars era, Exotic Food, Gen, Mandalorian, Mandalorian Culture, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 13:12:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18315947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PitoyaPTx/pseuds/PitoyaPTx
Summary: "I'd say not to eat the yellow snow, but you really shouldn't eat anything without running it by me first. We like our spices!" ~AviilaDay one in a strange place might not be so bad if the food doesn't kill Cara first!





	Episode 13: A New Life?

**Author's Note:**

> The next eight to twelve episodes are basically world building and deep lore, so you're going to get a lot of names and places thrown at you. Feel free to leave a comment if you have questions!

“Wake up,” Aviila’s soft voice drifted to her over the humm of the overhead light.  
Cara slowly opened her eyes and was greeted by a pale pink sky giving way to the vibrant orange of dawn. The air smelt fresh and faintly earthen, no doubt wafting down from the dense treeline above them on the cliffs. It was warm enough that she awoke drenched in sweat, so the wind whistling through the hut was a welcome feeling. “Hut”, however, wasn’t the best descriptor. The stone structure had two levels: a lower level that featured a kitchen, refresher, and storage, and an upper level that resembled a gazebo where the hut’s occupant slept. Aviila explained that it was too hot to sleep in an enclosed space unless you lived by the sea or up in the mountains. The foothills, where Cara awoke, were somewhere in between. Still, it was the height of summer and, according to Aviila, the best season to explore her home planet.  
“How long have you lived here?” Cara asked as she sat beside Aviila on the floor. A rectangular mirror sat against the wall in front of them; Aviila was securing a stretchy black head covering that extended half way down her lekku. After smoothing out the wrinkles and adjusting the fit, she pulled a small, tin jar from a worn canvas bag beside her. She opened it, put three fingers in, and brought back a thick brown substance that, to Cara, smelt oddly sweet. Cara looked down at her own tin on her lap atop a folded dress and jade breastplate. She vaguely remembered being measured by Aviila the night before, although by the time they landed the older woman had to carry her up the hill. The dress was thicker than it looked and had a padded black jumpsuit that went with it. She’d be covered from ankle to neck in the jumpsuit, which featured flexible plates no doubt designed for the wearer’s protection. The planet was warm, but it wasn’t Tatooine warm, so Cara figured a few extra layers wouldn’t be so bad. She watched Aviila apply the brown paint before cracking open her tin. Aviila put her hand over the lid.  
“Not yet,” she said, “Trust me, you’ll want to put on your clothing before you do that.”  
Cara flushed, realizing that stains on her traditional clothing might not sit well with Aviila’s people, especially if she wanted to impress them. Collecting the heavy fabrics and armor, Cara closed herself into the refresher to change. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she took off her coveralls and hung them on the back of the door. Her skin wasn’t as pale today, but she was rather flushed. Nerves, she thought, her arms prickling as a gust of wind swept into the room, ruffling the dress hanging from the curtain rod. She held onto it before it blew off, finally getting a better look at it in the growing natural light. The majority of the dress was orange like the armor she’d seen on the warriors in the listening post. Around the collar and just below the tan beaded belt was a white chevron. She turned it over, looking for the velcro strips that matched the ones on the teal breastplate, but finding none she unfolded the jumpsuit. Sure enough, there were the strips. For some reason she found that odd. If all the other warriors wore their armor in plain sight, why did the Chibala keep theirs concealed? More importantly, what was a Chibala? She remembered the derision in Ba’atuk’s voice when she dismissed Cara as only good enough for them. Whatever a Choxultz’alor was, Ba’atuk clearly had some say over who was worthy enough to be a warrior. Cara was clearly not.  
“Fifteen years,” Aviila said on the other side of the door, startling Cara, “I moved here after I became a warrior.”  
Cara nodded, although the gesture meant nothing with Aviila in the other room.  
“Let me know if you need help,” she added.  
“I might,” Cara admitted, struggling to reach the zipper on the back of the jumpsuit.  
She lifted her hair out of the way, showing the stubborn clasp to the older woman. Aviila gave what may have been a gentle tug, however Cara nearly lost her balance.  
“Move around in it,” Aviila suggested, giving her some room.  
She raised her arms and swirled them in a circle then did a few squats. To her surprise, the fabric was breathable and quite stretchy. The padding was rigid enough that she’d need to get used to sliding on and off chairs, but flexible enough to not totally hinder her range of motion. The jade breastplate, however, was rather heavy. Her chest felt squashed under all the padding, but Aviila assured her she’d get used to it.  
“Today, we’ll be taking a walk around the village,” she explained, fetching a few more items from shelves around the dimly lit room, “so you’ll get used to how to walk, how to greet people, and maybe learn a few of our words.”  
Cara sat back in a old wooden chair, winded from her stretches. At least the dress shouldn’t add too much more weight. Aviila helped her into that, too. Though the high neck of the jumpsuit was still visible over the round neckline of the dress, Cara admitted that it didn’t look too bad. Bright orange wasn’t her color but she wasn’t about the complain. The puffy sleeves came together at a tight wristband; the skirt flared out just slightly from her waist but was heavy enough to hold its shape. Aviila handed her the little tin of paint.  
“You watched me, now you may apply yours,” she gestured to the mirror.  
Cara gingerly sat down, careful not to disturb the precariously perched breastplate. The lid took some prying before it screwed off; Cara’s nose was filled with a bittersweet odor the moment it was removed. She brought the tin closer and inhaled then reeled back as her nose began to burn and her eyes watered.  
Aviila chuckled, “I guess I should have warned you!”  
“What is this stuff?” Cara set the tin down and massaged her nose, eyeing it like it had personally offended her.  
“Our customary paint passed down to us by our ancestors,” Aviila explained, making Cara feel bad for being disgusted, “it’s made from natural ingredients, so,” she pulled out her tin, unscrewed the lid, and spread a generous glob on her tongue. She offered it to Cara who took it hesitantly. Aviila’s tin smelled more sweet than bitter but the waxy texture was the same to her own. She dug in just enough to coat the tip of her pinky finger and placed the substance on her tongue. The moment it made contact, she felt warm shivers down her spine. It was sweet, so sweet she almost vomited, but it was complex. Behind the sickly sweetness was what she could only describe as the smell of fire. As she cleared her tongue the tip began to tingle as if she’d eaten something spicy.  
“And you can put this near your eyes?” she managed through the burning sensation spreading across her tongue.  
Aviila laughed again, “Yes. It is completely safe.”  
“What do you..I mean what is this exactly?”  
“That,” Aviila gave her head an affectionate pat, “is a Meso’a secret. If you didn’t like mine, I suggest you don’t try yours.”  
“Will do,” Cara nodded, looking around for a pitcher of water.  
“You look like a proper Chibala,” Aviila beamed as Cara stood before the mirror, the top half of her face painted white.  
She fidgeted slightly, furrowing and un-furrowing her brow as her skin wasn’t used to being smothered, but she couldn’t deny how otherworldly she now looked. This may be the first time in her life that she’d worn anything other than coveralls. Had she gone to her brother’s wedding… Reality washed over her like a flood. She was on a planet she didn’t know existed with a people group she barely knew about after being orphaned by thugs, and now she was hiding from the only people she thought she could trust. Beon and Fent’s faces materialized like wisps of smoke in her mind. “How are you, vod?” came Fent’s voice. She didn’t know what “vod” meant, but it always made her feel welcome, more welcome than her father ever did. And her mother? She was no better. To be honest, she was just as money loving as her father, although maybe that was a result of having to pay off the Black Sun every week. She took a deep breath to steady herself, trying to keep the growing depression in her throat off of her face. Aviila, however, was already making her way to the door. Cara turned back to her reflection, telling-no-begging herself to be strong and just do as she was told. Maybe living here wouldn’t be so bad? She hardly understood what was going on between the Mandalorians...she hardly understood Mandalorians in general. Beon and Fent were the closest she’d ever come to them until now. They were more than friendly compared to the bloodthirsty bounty-hounds her parents described. Guilt welled up in her stomach. Would they be worried about her? Maybe she could ask Aviila to help her send a message to them, let them know she’s alright? But.. after what Aviila told her…  
“Are you ready?” Aviila asked.  
Slowly, Cara turned from the mirror and almost jumped with fright. It took her a moment to compose herself. Avilla put her hands on her hips and laughed.  
“I’m sorry,” she said, voice muffled by the helmet, “But not everyone knows I’m alive. I wouldn’t want any more attention brought to us.”  
Cara nodded, but Aviila’s helmet… ornate did no justice to the roaring feline, red plume, ivory-colored tusks, and carved sleeves covering almost half of each lekku.  
“What does it mean?” she managed, still taking in the vibrant jades and smooth orange faceplate. Aviila opened the door, flooding the room with hazy orange light.  
“In time, you will learn.”


End file.
